Grief
by SophieRomanoff
Summary: 'Grief: intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.' When the battle of New York has been won, Natasha takes Clint aside to tell him that Coulson is dead. Day 16 of prompt challenge. I'm rubbish at summaries lmao just trust me and read it. Lots of feels.


Hey everyone! Guess who's rewatching Avengers Assemble? Me! So I finally decided now was the perfect time to get this chapter out. This is set straight after the battle of New York.

Grief: intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.

GRIEF

Natasha watched as Fury spread Phil's cards over the table, her face blank as he hid the agony inside her.

She reached for them, desperately wanting them. Her fingers came away sticky with blood and she dropped them like they'd burned her.

She shoved her chair back and stalked out of the room, losing her cool for a moment and slamming her fist into the nearest wall.

Fuck it all.

Fury had lied; she knew the cards had never been in his pocket. He had used them to get the attention of the others, and she understood. That didn't mean she liked it. The urge to keep everything Coulson had held dear for herself was a selfish notion, but one she couldn't shake.

In the last few days, she'd heard two phrases she had never thought she would hear.

"Barton's been compromised."

"They called it."

The footage of Loki stabbing through Phil's chest was engraved in her brain. She saw it every time she closed her eyelids.

She didn't have time to mourn, to be sad. She had to focus on getting Clint back and stopping Loki.

Later, she knew she would break down. She only hoped Clint would be back at her side.

When the battle was won, Natasha followed her new companions to the shawarma place. She wasn't hungry but she knew Clint hadn't eaten in days. Loki hadn't cared about their wellbeing, only that they were under his control.

If she didn't go, Clint wouldn't eat either. So she went with them. They'd all somehow managed to avoid serious injury but Natasha and Clint weren't super individuals and had no armour to protect them.

She hurt all over and her ribs screamed in protest.

When they sat down, she silently pulled Clint's foot up onto her chair. She'd noticed him limping and didn't want him to injure himself further.

They barely spoke, all exhausted and crashing from adrenaline.

When they finished, Stark tipped the owners handsomely and they were on their way.

"Come back to the tower." Tony murmured, looking around them.

"Maybe later." Natasha shook her head, holding Clint's arm.

They'd never been very pda, they hid their relationship well but she was so glad he'd come back to her, and he was hurt so she had no qualms about holding onto him.

"We need to get back to Shield. We have things to do."

Bruce nodded, "What about-"

Natasha glared at him, jerking her head.

He understood, thanks God, and just nodded.

Clint frowned at the little interaction but shrugged. "Yeah I've got a very important meeting down at psych." He offered a small smile.

They bid their farewells but instead of getting into the Shield issue car waiting for them, Natasha pulled him inside the nearest building.

It was a little shop and was damaged but still standing.

"Tash, what're you doing? We can't avoid it. I can't avoid it." Clint sighed.

"Is Phil meeting us here? I thought we would've seen him by now but I guess he's busy. If I'm gonna spending weeks down in psych, I need to see him."

Natasha swallowed, struggling to find her words. Her chest ached and her throat burned as she held back the tears threatening to fall.

"Clint..." She started, voice ragged.

"What? What is it?" His eyes widened at the sight of her clearly trying not to cry.

"Where is he, Natasha? Is he hurt? Tell me."

"He's dead." She whispered, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

"Phil's dead, Clint." She shook her head, a few stray tears escaping down her cheeks.

"What?" He growled, pulling his hand away and taking a step back. "What the hell are you talking about, Natasha, he's not dead! He's not!"

"He fell before the battle began." She ground out, not moving to touch him.

"Did I kill him?" He whispered, anguish in his voice.

"Natasha, did I kill him?!" He shouted, hands balled into fists.

"No. No, Loki...Loki stabbed him. Through the heart. He was gone before the medics got there." She whispered, her big eyes full of unshed tears.

Clint's legs gave out beneath him and he stumbled to the floor, his breathing ragged.

"No." He whispered, slamming his hand into the ground.

"NO!" He roared, slamming his hand down again.

Natasha crossed the short distance and knelt beside him, grabbing his hand to stop him injuring himself more.

"It's not true. He barely goes out in the field. This isn't true. Natasha, tell me it's not true."

He was like a child in that moment, not wanting to believe the truth and desperately trying to get her to agree with him.

"I'm...I'm so fucking sorry, Clint." She whispered, biting hard into her lower lip.

Clint's chest rumbled and the next moment, he was screaming.

Howling, strangled sobs intermitting the deep, pained screams.

When his voice was hoarse, he reached for her and she pulled him to her chest.

"No." He whispered, repeating the one word over and over again.

Natasha held him tightly, rocking slightly on her heels.

"I know. I know, Clint, I know." She whispered against his hair, pulling his chin up to face her.

His cheeks were covered in tears and his nose was running all over his lips. She didn't care, watching the water tracks running through the layer of grime covering his skin.

She kissed him, more teeth than anything, kissing him like her life depended on it. Like she was dying and this was the only way to save her.

He kissed her with the same vigour, the taste of salt on both their lips.

When they pulled apart, he sank back into her warm embrace, shuddering like a sick child.

"We need to get to Shield, but we have a few more minutes." She murmured lowly, squeezing her eyes shut and pushing back the tears yet again.

They sat in silence for the next five minutes, Clint's breathing harsh as his tears dripping into the dust around them.

She knew his pain. Knew it was felt like he'd been stabbed too. Like his heart would break and like he wasn't even sure he wanted it to continue beating.

The agony clawing through his veins as he tried to wrap his head around it.

They'd been surrounded by death since they were children. Had wrought so much of it and been on the brink many times themselves. They'd known agents, good friends, not come back from missions.

But Phil...He was always a constant. He was their handler and as such, rarely went on missions other than to guide them.

They'd never considered a life without him, never thought he would ever be in this position. They'd joked, how when Phil was older he would still be handling them. Pulling them out of shit, even when he was old and gray.

He was gone.

"He was the first person to see my potential, my real potential. Not cheap tricks at the circus. When he found be, when he brought me into Shield..." Clint choked and Natasha hummed, nodding against his hair.

Clint had been that for her. Her saviour coming out of the shadows. Her guardian angel.

Phil had been next, working his ass off to get her what he thought she deserved. To integrate her into Shield. To be her guide.

She held him tighter, neither caring that her fingers would leave bruises.

Phil was gone, but Clint was alive. He'd come back to her. Phil's absence was...heart breaking. It tore into her until she was sure she wouldn't be able to carry on.

Clint looked up at her, touching her cheek.

"I don't know what to do without him." Clint murmured, finally having gotten his breathing under control.

"We live." She whispered, still not sure how they would be able to but knowing they had to. Phil would want that. He would order that.

"He never got to go to Portland." He whispered. "Never go t to visit her."

"He said her music was sublime." She murmured, still rocking him.

"We'll play that at his funeral." Clint said, his voice hollow.

"Yeah we will." She agreed, swallowing and closing her eyes.

"How do we live, Natasha?" He asked brokenly, meeting her gaze.

"I don't know." She said honestly. "We just do."

"We just live." Clint murmured.

Natasha hummed softly.

"We just live."

...

Five years later, across a bloodied battlefield, Clint and Natasha would see him again.

They would think they were dead or had finally lost if, but he would walk towards them, tie at his neck and suit looking untouched by the death around them.

They would collapse to their knees, holding hands as he walked towards them.

He would come beside them, would pull them into his arms and whisper.

"It's time to come home."


End file.
